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Standing abruptly, he leaves me sitting there, speechless and paralyzed as he takes long strides to the kitchen. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns and I’m quick to strip my sleep shirt off.
I can hear him rattling around, and he reappears a minute later with the bottle of wine in his hand. “What I want,” he stresses as he sets the bottle down and then clears off the coffee table, “is to get drunk off of you.”
“Lie down,” he commands and I do as he says without thinking twice. In a swift move, he takes his shirt off over his head. The sight of his rippled muscles, the evidence of his powerful body, brings out a primal need.
I’m naked, trembling, wanting him and Declan comes to stand over me. He opens the bottle of wine, his eyes flashing. “Open your mouth, like a good little pet.”
A shiver of desire comes over me as his hand rests on the dip in my hip, so close to where I need him.
I obey, and he tips the bottle over my lips. Wine flows directly into my mouth, but he doesn’t let me drink much of it. He moves the bottle over my body, letting wine splash on my skin, and I shiver from the contact. Declan’s on his knees a second later. His hand slips between my thighs as he licks up the bit of wine.
His tongue is rough and hot on my flesh, moving over sensitive areas, licking and licking until he’s had all the wine. My nipples harden and a wave of desire rushes to my most sensitive bits. My hand flies to his hair, and he tsks.
“Now, now, be a good girl. You know better,” he gentles his tone with these words and I nod, placing a hand on each edge of the coffee table.
He runs his nose down my navel and then lower before kissing just above my clit, teasing me and forcing me to protest in a small moan. He chuckles, deep and masculine, the warmth of it keeping me on edge.
In between openmouthed kisses, he pours more wine that pools in my navel, sucking it up and then giving me more. He toys with my body, swirling his tongue over my nipples, nipping and biting. More often than not, I’m given the wine and he devours my body without it until his hands are on my inner thighs, parting my legs. He groans against my clit before licking and sucking it into his mouth.
I’m on the verge of coming already by the time he kneels between my legs and puts his mouth there. His tongue works me over. I’m instantly on the edge as he toys with me, nibbling and licking while he holds my thighs apart. The pleasure builds and my back arches. He keeps me down, his grip nearly bruising.
I let myself fall into it, feeling the weight of the last twenty-four hours melt away into nothing. I cry out his name as I come on his tongue and he murmurs, “That’s it, little pet.”
* * *
Exhaustion weighsdown on me after I find my release. I’m tired from the long day without him and tired from the orgasm. Without much sleep, and with the bit of wine, I could sleep here on this coffee table, I could drift away right here, right now.
That’s how damn tired I am. I’m pulled into Declan’s arms and my arms wrap around his neck, holding myself as close to him as I can be. He carries me to the sofa and drapes the blanket around me, kissing my temple. His thumb tilts my chin up and his lips meet mine; at first they’re gentle, but he deepens our kiss. He takes from me in that kiss and I moan from its intensity.
When he breaks it, I’m reminded of something I confessed long ago to Amy: All I want is a man who’s going to fuck me and then hold me afterward. That’s exactly what Declan’s doing. I close my eyes and try not to think about it.
But I can feel him watching, so I open my eyes again. “What?”
“Nothing,” he whispers and then rests his head on the back of the sofa. He shifts the way he’s sitting so he can rub at his shoulder.
“Are you sore?” I wriggle up from his lap, and when I’m standing he raises his eyebrows at me. “I used to do massage. Let me.”
Declan gives me a suspicious look, but he turns over on the sofa and stretches out. With him laid out, I realize just how broad his shoulders are. Just how powerfully his body is built.
Warming my hands, I wish I had oil so I could do a better job. He’s so tight, the muscles barely loosen up. I get to work on his shoulders first. Deep, hard strokes for a deep tissue massage.
I’m rewarded with a groan I could easily become addicted to.
“Does that feel good?” I ask him, watching his eyes close. He hums a response.
Kneading his muscles, I realize just how tense he is. “Tell me if it hurts,” I murmur, but I’m not sure he hears me. He groans, and then again a minute later.
“You were a masseuse?” he questions, his tone sleepy as I work his back.
“Yeah, for a year or so … a while ago.”
“Why did you stop?” he asks and lets out another groan.
“Travis didn’t want me touching other men.” My lips turn down at the memory. “He made a scene at the spa I worked at.”
“Your ex sounds like a problem.”
“He used to be.” I speak without thinking, focusing on his shoulder. “You’re really tight here.” I’m hesitant, not wanting to hurt him, but there’s a knot that won’t give.
